A Love That Waits
by It's-A-Passion
Summary: Clara always loved the sea. It was a part of her. Everything and anything about it fascinated her, even pirates. She'd always wanted to meet one. Well, she gets her chance and not in the way she thought. Movieverse. Will x OC.
1. Man Overboard

**So, thank you for reading. just a heads up, in case you didn't know, this is a Will x OC fanfic. Sorry to the Will x Elizabeth fans. It generally follows along with the Movies, excluding On Stranger Tides.**

**Let me know what you think!**

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><p>A Love That Waits.<p>

Chapter 1 – Man Overboard.

I remember when I was about seven years old, I was aboard a ship with my little sister Elizabeth, who I called Lissy and our father and Mr Norrington, along with other crew members. I don't remember why we were on the ship, the reason behind our voyage on that ship, only the excitement I felt at being at sea. The fearlessness and freedom I felt at sea. Being on board that ship I felt a happiness I couldn't explain, and in a child's way, the purpose of the voyage wasn't important, only the thrill of going along for the ride.

I stood at the railing of the bow of the ship, slowly breathing in the scent of the sea, the tangible saltiness on the air. A gentle breeze lifted my hair. Lissy stood back from the edge of the boat, closer to father. She was always more cautious than me. I turned back to the sea, and watch the waves crash against the side of the ship, making a slapping sound. I sang a song under my breath as the ship continued to push through the fog that had long-since settled on the water.

"_Yo ho yo ho, a pirate's life for me, we pillage and plunder and we rifle and loot, drink up me hearties yo ho, we kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot, drink up me hearties yo ho…"_

I let the softness of my childlike voice ring out across the merciless waves, eerie and mysterious.

"_Yo ho yo ho, a pirate's life for me, we extort we pilfer we filch and sack, drink up me hearties yo h-"_

A firm hand grasped my shoulder and I gasped, turning around to look at the man who had scared me.

"Quiet missy, cursed pirate's sail these water's," Joshamee Gibbs told me, his eyes shifting about, as if searching for said pirates. "You don't want to bring them down on us now do you?"

Before I could answer, Norrington cut him off, "Mr Gibbs, that will do."

We both turned to look at him, young and proud, though he was much younger then. We all were.

"She was singing about pirate's," Gibbs said, pointing at me, as if blaming me. "Bad luck to be singing about pirate's this mornin' in this unnatural fog, mark my words."

"Consider them marked." Norrington's proper English accent was so obvious when talking to Mr Gibbs. "On your way."

"Aye Lieutenant," he walked of, passing them and muttering something about how it was bad luck to have a women on board, even miniature ones. I just ignored him, what did he know anyway?

"I think it would be rather exciting to meet a pirate," I announced to Norrington. Lissy walked over to me and slipped her hand into mine.

"Do you really think so?" she asked me, with adoration in her eyes. Back then I think she would have followed me anywhere.

"Yes I think so," I told her, smiling.

"Me too."

I looked back up to Norrington and tried not to take offense at his patronising smile that said: _it's just a passing fancy, she'll get over it. _Grownups never thought we saw that smile, but sometimes we did.

"Think again, Miss Swann," He said, walking up to the bow of the ship and looking out at the murky waters. "Vile and desolate creatures, the lot of them. I intend to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag or wears a pirate brand, gets what he deserves. A short drop and a sudden stop."

My eyes widened and I audibly gulped, imagining the feeling of the coarse rope tied around my neck. I looked past him and saw Gibbs pulling his short scarf tight around his neck, holding it up to imitate the hangman's noose while sticking out his tongue. I turned back to Norrington with what I was sure was a shocked and horrified expression. I dearly hoped Lissy wasn't listening.

"Lieutenant Norrington, I appreciate your fervour, but I'm concerned about the effect this will have on my daughters'," he glanced at us and noticed that Lissy wasn't paying attention, instead she was looking out over the water. "Especially Clara."

"My apologies governor Swann," he said, before walking off.

I turned to my father, trying to make him believe I wasn't scared. "Actually, I find it all fascinating."

"Yes, that's what concerns me." He said before walking off as well.

I shrugged my shoulders before turning back to the waters, watching through the fog. I admit that I was searching for a glimpse of pirates but instead I was greeted with another sight. Through the fog I saw a dark shape. I squinted my eyes and leaned forward, trying to see what it was. The object moved closer to the ship and I saw what it was. An umbrella floated past, along the side of the ship. I smiled and followed it about three steps before watching it float away. Now what was an umbrella doing out here? Who's umbrella was it? Maybe it was a pirate's? I immediately put that thought from my mind, calling myself an idiot. _Why would a pirate have an umbrella? It isn't even raining!_

I turned back to the front and was shock at what I saw. An unconscious boy was laying on a makeshift raft of wood, floating on the waves and coming closer to the ship. I panicked and turned around, calling to anyone who would listen. We had to get him out, we had to help.

"Look, look, there's a boy in the water," I yelled. That spurred them into action. Norrington looked over the railing and spotting the boy yelled 'man overboard'. Everything happened so fast then, people rushing about. Lissy ran to father and partially hid behind him, confused as to what was going on. I anxiously wrung my hands together as I watched them bring him up and lay him on the deck.

I heard someone say "He's still breathing." In that moment I felt a rush of relief wash over me and I felt a little numb. I tried to get a glimpse of him while also staying out of the men's way, but I had no such luck. It wasn't until Gibbs said something that caused them to move to the railing. Their attention was focused on something else more important. I spared a glance behind me and saw the burning wreckage of a ship, still alight, flames dancing high. It would have held my attention longer if I wasn't so preoccupied with the boy. While they were talking, I slowly walked over to the boy. My head snapped up briefly when I heard Gibbs say "Pirate's", but I continued to walk over to the boy. I stood next to him, looking down, my eyebrows furrowed. _Who was he?_

He was lifted up and moved before I could further contemplate. Father came up beside me as I watched him being carried away.

"Clara, I want you to accompany the boy, he will be in your charge. And take Elizabeth with you. Take care of them."

For the first time I noticed Lissy standing there, looking at me. I nodded at father, grabbed Lissy's hand and followed the boy. I looked down at Elizabeth and she met my eyes. She had such bright blue eyes, so different from my own brown ones. She smiled at me, so trustingly, and it was probably in that second that I decided I would always protect her, my baby sister.

They moved him up deck, out of the way, and gave him a towel to keep warm. I didn't know what was going on next, I was too preoccupied with the boy. He held such fascination for me. I kneeled down next to him and Lissy went to his other side. She just sat there while I stared. I felt her growing impatience.

"Why isn't he waking up?" she asked me.

"I don't know Lissy," I told her, truthfully, though she voiced my own concerns.

"Will he ever wake up?"

"Yes. I just don't know when."

She was quiet after that, waiting far more patiently now. I turned back to look at the boy. He was rather good looking, I thought at the time. though I would never admit that out loud. He looked to be about one or two years older than me. He had a shock of damp black hair and his skin was fairly pale. I reached out my hand and gently stroked his fair out of the way. His eyes jerked open and his hand snatched out and grasped my arm, breathing heavily and gasping for air. Lissy squeaked and jumped up in fright, backing away from him. I tried to calm my beating heart after the fright he gave me.

"It's okay," I told him softly. "My name is Clara Swann."

"Will Turner," he told me in return, still breathing heavily.

"I'm watching over you Will," I glanced at Lissy who was beginning to come back to his side. "We both are," I amended. He seemed to calm down and he laid his head back down, falling back asleep.

"He scared me," Lissy admitted to me.

"Me too."

We sat there for a moment longer before Lissy reached out her hand and grabbed a medallion that was hidden in his clothes. I looked at what she held as she took it away from his neck.

Lissy looked at it with wide eyes, before looking at me. "He's a pirate," she told me. For the second time that day I panicked. How could I not after the way Norrington was talking and the way everyone was acting? It was one thing for a child to say she'd like to meet a pirate, but another for a child to have pirate contraband on his person.

"Hide it," I hissed at her, and I think, for the moment she understood my panic.

"Has he said anything yet?" Norrington's voice made us both jump and we turned around to look at him. I hoped to God that Lissy could use one of her ingenious hiding spots to hide that necklace.

"Only that his name is Will Turner, that's all I found out," I said.

He nodded before telling his men to take Will below, no doubt to a bed. I watched them walk away before turning to Lissy.

"Give me the necklace, we have to hide it," I said, though in truth I wanted it. After all, it was a _real_ pirate medallion. Lissy pulled it out of her bodice and looked at it, smiling gently.

She shook her head at me, "No, I want it."

What? She wanted it too? But I was the one who wanted to meet a pirate! I was the one who knew their songs! But Lissy just looked at me with pleading eyes. How could I say no to her? I sighed.

"Fine," I told her before glancing around surreptitiously. "But just make sure you don't let anyone see it. I mean it Lissy, don't tell anyone you have it, not even Will."

"Not even Will?" she asked me.

"Not even Will." I repeated.

"Okay," she said, happy to have it.

I sighed again and walked down the stairs. No doubt Lissy would come up with a brilliant hiding spot. She always did, which was why she always won Hide-and-seek. i just didn't have the patience.

As i walked down the stair, i glanced out at the sea again. a shiver went up my spine at what I saw. A ship, out in the distance. A black ship with black sails. A pirate ship. I squeezed my eyes shut and when I looked again, it was gone.

But in the next passing four years of my life, I forgot all about it and I didn't see it again.

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	2. Growing Up

A Love That Waits

Chapter 2 – Growing up

Will was brought back to Port Royal, a fact I am eternally grateful for, for we became great friends. At the age of seven, I had many maids and nurses looking after me and Lissy. They were nice, but I dearly wanted someone to play with who was my own age, aside from my sister. My prayers were answered in the form of one William Turner.

When we returned, he was apprenticed to the local Blacksmith to learn that trade. He was new in the area and I opted to help him out and show him around. After all, I was the one who found him. Of course, Lissy always tagged along, but I didn't mind. I never minded. He was shy at first, but I quickly got him to be himself. Which, at times could be confusing. But I'll get to that later.

The fact that I was the Governors' daughter, thankfully, never deterred him from pushing me in the mud when we practised sword fighting. With wooden swords, that is. But, being the gentlemen and honour-bound boy he was, he always offered his hand to help me up. We were oft seen by the locals together, playing around.

At age nine, I had convinced father to cut down on the number of maids I had, to just one. I never understood why it was necessary to have eight maids helping me get dressed, do my hair, make me presentable. It was ridiculous. I told this to both father and Will. Father, after some niggling and arguing, conceded to just one maid and Will just said I was a young lady so I should have so many maids, especially as I was the Governor's daughter. Needless to say, _I_ pushed _him_ in the mud that time. Though I swore I saw admiration when I told him I had cut down the number to one.

While the other young ladies my age were sent off to finishing school, I stayed right where I was. I think, in some way, father did want me to go, but he couldn't bear to see me gone for too long. I loved him dearly. He never punished us or hurt us or even sent us to our rooms without supper. He would just threaten that, as we were getting to that age, he would betrothe us. But we never took him seriously because when we were good he would always say that he couldn't bear to have us gone.

I could feel myself becoming attached to Will, though I would never admit _that_ either. And I held true to my promise to protect Lissy, though the occasion where I would have to act accordingly never arose. I took that to mean I did that job well.

Will excelled at being a Blacksmith. He was extremely talented, but I wouldn't tell him that.

I loved the people in my life with all my heart. Lissy, with her trusting eyes and contentedness to just be near me. Her absolute belief that I would keep her safe. And I would. Father, with his kind heart and love for his daughters. And Will, my best friend who always looked out for me and was too darn honourable for his own good.

It was around this time that I started to notice it. The differences. Lissy was all light brown hair, light barely-there eyelashes, tan skin and icy blue eyes, like father. She was quieter and followed orders well, just like father. She listened to what father said and didn't argue. She was complacent with me around. In comparison, I was so different. My dark brown, almost black hair, dark, thick lashes framing chocolate brown eyes and light, ivory skin that didn't tan despite the fact that I was usually outside. I was loud and outspoken and didn't like following orders that seem absurd. I argued when I thought something was unfair. And then there was my love of the sea. I felt it's pull and I would often go to the water's edge just to feel the cool touch of the salty water. It's presence was always there, a part of me, of who I am. But Lissy was indifferent; she neither loved nor hated the sea. I knew it was typical for siblings to be different, but on some level, we just seemed _so_ different.

It did not matter to me, of course, Lissy was still my darling sister, Father was still my father. I never let on how our differences affected me. Except to Will. When I told him, he just looked at me and said I was probably like my mother. And then he grinned at me and told me that Lissy probably just thought that there were enough naughty children in the family for father to deal with, that was why she was so malleable. Of course he took off running and I chased, demanding that he took it back. How dare he say I was naughty!

Time passed and before I knew it, it was approaching my eleventh birthday.

I opened my eyes on the eve of that day to the bright sunlight pouring in from my just opened windows. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head, trying to block out the insistent light. Penny, my maid, tsked at me jokingly and pulled the covers off.

"Penny," I exclaimed, horrified and sitting up. My eyes burned, oh the light.

She laughed a little, "Get up miss," she said and I glanced at her.

"Clara," she corrected. I grinned at her. Plopping myself back down on the bed, I groaned. Again.

"Must i?"

She laughed again. That was why I opted to keep Penny, she was so good natured and she put up with me. "You must," she informed.

"Fine," I sighed.

My usual morning routine followed, Penny helped me get changed, styled my hair that would no doubt be ruined by lunch and gave me breakfast. I was just finishing my glass of freshly squeezed orange juice when there was a tap on the window. Followed by another. My face split into a wide smile as I ran to the window and looked out. Will was down there, throwing pebbles from the garden. If the groundskeeper finds them he won't be happy. I waved and he waved back. I held up five fingers, signalling that I'd be down in five minutes.

Penny was smiling at me, already passing me the ball I would take with me. She was far too used to me running off.

"I assume it's young Mister Turner. Again."

"Of course, who else would it be?"

She just grinned at me in a way that made me think she knew something I didn't.

"Just be back by one o'clock for your tutor," she told me.

I groaned for the umpteenth time this morning, "Ugh, do I have to, Penny?" I asked, whining. "I already know how to read and write."

"It's your father's order's," she replied.

"Fine," I sighed. There really was no use to arguing with father on this. When it came to education, father put his foot down. Literally.

I walked out the door to meet Will. He grinned at me and I raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Race you?" I asked, not waiting for an answer. I took off running, through the town. The smells of freshly baked bread and cinnamon greeted me, tantalising the air. No time to stop and see, I ran on, getting in people's way and jumping over objects in my way. I saw the stone building ahead that signalled the end of our race. I slapped the stone and spun around to see Will about two meters away. When he reached me, he bent double, breathing heavily.

"No fair," he panted. "You cheated."

"Did not," I grinned.

"Did too," he grinned back. I rolled my eyes at him and we continued to walk on, tossing the ball back and forth, seeing who could toss it the highest.

We reached a small bridge and I climbed up on the railing, walking along. Will walked beside, his eyes trained on me.

"Would you get down? You'll fall," he pleaded.

I gave him an incredulous look, "I will not fall," I cried indignantly. "Besides, even if I did, the water would catch me or you would," I stated.

"and what makes you think that I'll catch you?" he questioned. I grinned slyly and pretended to wobble. His hand automatically came up to catch me should I fall, his eyes concerned.

I laughed, looking down at him, "Told you." He just shook his head at me.

"Don't do that again."

"Why? Did I scare you?" I taunted.

"No, I just don't want you to land on me. You're heavy."

I scoffed at him but grinned nevertheless. I was always grinning around him. "Sure," I said, drawing the word out. We were quiet for a while before Will looked around, as if suddenly realising he was forgetting something.

"Where is Elizabeth?"

The smile faded from my face and I walked on, faster, trying to get away from him.

"Wait, Clara," he called after me, racing to catch up. He grabbed my arm and forced me to face him.

"What's wrong?"

I looked into his dark blue eyes and felt sad. "Father talked to us last night." He looked confused, wondering how that has anything to do with Lissy's absence.

"So?"

"So, he said that we were growing up and that we should start acting like young ladies. He said we should stop running around with you all day and start behaving. You know how she is, she never disobeys him. So she stayed home," I told him sadly. He in turn, looked sad.

"Oh," he said quietly.

"But don't worry, I won't listen to him. You're my best friend Will Turner and don't you forget it," I told him. "besides, you know how I am. I never listen."

He smiled but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He looked upset. I was about to say something else when one of the other children in Port Royal, Tom, ran up to me. He slapped me on the arm and yelled "It" before running off. Lots of other children were running about as well, trying to get away. I grabbed Wills' hand and pulled him along with me as I ran after Tabitha, a girl a year or two younger than me.

We played that until it got closer to one. I was glad to see that the sadness had vanished from his face in light of the game. I hated to see him sad.

"I have to go," I called to him and he walked with me back to my house. We were chattering away when all of a sudden, Will went flying to the ground. I turned around and saw one of the bigger kids standing there. Rolland, his name was, was a well-known bully on Port Royal, often bullying just for the sake of being mean. He called Will 'orphan' and 'unloved' and was about to move to kick him when I stepped in front of him. Pulling my hand back, I punched him in the nose as hard as I could.

Rolland staggered back, covering his nose and howling in pain.

"Take that, you big bully," I screeched. I moved to hit him again but he backed away, looking down at Will.

"Do you always get your girl to fight your battles? You coward. Be a man," he yelled before turning around and running off. The adrenaline coursed through me as the fight or flight instinct took over. Now that I paid attention, my hand actually hurt but I didn't care. I fought off a kid, much bigger then myself, all by myself.

I turned to Will with an ecstatic grin. He had long since stood up and he was looking at me angrily. His hands were curled into fists and he was almost shaking. He turned around and started to walk away from me. I frowned, so confused. Why was he so angry? I chased after him, grabbing his arm like he did mine.

"Will?" I asked tentatively.

"What?" he snapped at me. I stepped back, shocked at his outburst. He had never been so angry before.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" he repeated. "What's wrong is he's right. I need to fight my own battles, not you. You shouldn't be protecting me, _I_ should be protecting _you_! You're the girl! Why can't you just let me handle it myself instead of getting involved in my fight? You could get hurt! I don't want you to get hurt," he raged.

"I'm sorry," I yelled at him, angry at him as well. Just because I was a girl didn't mean I needed someone to protect me!

He seemed to calm down almost immediately. He apologised as well and we continued on towards home, laughing about the look on Rolland's face when I punched him. I showed Will my hand and he said he'd teach me how to punch properly.

When we almost reached home, I remembered something I'd wanted to ask Will.

"Father says he needs to talk to me tonight. What do you think he wants?"

Will shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe he wants to teach you how to act like a girl," he grinned.

Outraged, I punched him in the arm and regretted it. My hand still hurt a little. "How dare you! I do act like a girl."

"Can't half tell most of the time. Besides, girls don't go around punching people."

I poked my tongue out at him before grinning and walking up to my house. I turned and waved at him,

"See you tomorrow!" I called.

"Definitely," he called back. But when I walked inside, my smile disappeared. I probably wouldn't smile again for the next four hours. Sigh, I hate being tutored. I'd have to try and convince father to let me discontinue lessons.

O:0:o:0:o:0:o:0:o:0:o

I walked to father's office at seven o'clock, like he had asked me to, wondering at what he could possibly want to talk to me about. I knocked on the door and he called for me to come in. I walked in and sat on one of the chairs near the fire burning in the hearth.

"Ah, yes, Clara, right, uh," he seemed nervous which in turn made me nervous. He came and sat on the edge of the other chair, anxiously twisting his hands.

"Father, what is it?"

"I don't know how to start this," he muttered.

"just tell me father."

He seemed to gather himself and take a deep breath.

"About ten and a half years ago, I was walking along the beach at night. I was elsewhere in the world, yet to move to Port Royal, though it was very close. I was walking along the beach, trying to clear my head, preparing myself, I suppose, for our move to Port Royal and because I had just found out that Mary was pregnant," he smiled fondly when he said his late wife's name. "I was walking along and when I glanced up, I saw a chest, no bigger than two feet long. I admit, I was rather curious, though that could be because I was trying to occupy my thoughts with less trying matters, and at the time, the mystery of the box was appealing. The chest was just sitting there as the waves washed up around it." He looked into the fire, his mind transported back ten years ago. He was reliving what he was telling me.

"I picked the chest up, it was neither heavy nor light, and placed it on a rock nearby. I stood there for a while, debating what I should do. Should I take it home or should I throw it back to sea? In the end, curiosity won. I slid the bolt across and opened the lid," his eyes teared up as he looked back at me.

"Inside was the most beautiful baby girl I had ever seen. She had little wisps of brown hair on her head and large brown eyes. Those eyes looked at me so trustingly, so innocently. The baby held up her arms as if she wanted me to pick her up, and I obliged. That was the first time I held you, and I decided to keep you." He looked at me imploringly.

"Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?"

I nodded my head, unsure how to feel. "Yes father, I understand."

"No, you don't. I'm trying to tell you that I'm not your-"

I cut him off. "I know, I understand, but as far as I'm concerned, you're still my father and Lissy is still my sister." I got up and went to him, wrapping my arms around him.

"I still love you."

"And I you."

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><p><strong>OKAY, SO I KNOW THIS CHAPTER WAS A LITTLE BORING BUT I KINDA NEEDED TO SET THE SCENE FOR WHAT'S TO COME. YOU NEEDED TO KNOW HER FEELINGS NOW SO THAT HER FUTURE ACTIONS AREN'T OUT OF THE BLUE, SAVVY?<strong>

**HOPEFULLY IT WILL GET BETTER.**

**ANYWAY, LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!**

**AND THANKS FOR READING!**


	3. Goodbye

A Love That Waits

Chapter 3 - Goodbye

As I slowly trudged my way up the stairs, I was suddenly hit with the most bizarre feeling. A tingle started in the middle of my back and radiated outwards. For an inexplicable reason, I felt as if someone or something was coming for me. The feeling was ominous and threatening and made me feel sick.

_I'm going crazy, _I thought. It was ridiculous to think that something was coming for me. It made no sense, there was no proof, no logical standing. How could I possibly know something like this?

It was ridiculous, but the more I thought about it, the stronger the tingling grew.

That night, as I lay in the comfort of my bed, the feeling grew still. I was plagued by nightmares, of shadows and figures shrouded in darkness, coming towards me. They reached out to me and grabbed at me with cold fingers, their grasps steely and strong. I couldn't fight it, they took me away. Away from Lissy and father. And Will. I struggled but it did no good, I was too small, too young to do anything. Farther and farther away they took me, away from everything I'd ever known.

We stopped moving and the figures moved away from, leaving me in darkness. They blended in with my surroundings and suddenly I was alone. So alone. The pain hit me then, the loss of my family. They weren't here with me, nowhere near me. I was alone and I couldn't get back to them. I couldn't protect Lissy, couldn't hug father, couldn't play with Will. They were gone. And I was alone. All alone.

I was jolted awake by my own scream, sweat pouring from my face, chest rising and falling rapidly. My eyes darted around at my surroundings and I was greeted by the familiarity of my room. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The rest of the night I tossed and turned, drifting in and out of consciousness. My dreams were always clouded with darkness and shadowed figures, reaching out to me. Whichever way they came at me, it always ended with me alone, away from my family.

Whatever was coming for me, it was coming fast.

O:0:o:0:o:0:o:0:o:0:o:0:O:0:O:0:O

I went to Lissy's room early the next morning, crawling into her bed and hugging her to me. I didn't know what to say to her. Do I tell her the truth? Or do I just let her continue to think that I am her sister? Do I tell her of my suspicions?

She turned around to face me and wriggled closer. "Morning," her voice was muffled by my nightgown and was laden with sleep. I stroked back her hair and smiled at her, humming under my breath.

"Lissy," I said softly.

"Yes?" she asked me, looking up at my face.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Of course."

"And you know that I would never leave you willingly, right?"

"Yes," this time there was a quiver to her voice.

"And you know that no matter what, I will always protect and if I can't do it, I would get someone else to, right?"

"What's wrong? Are you leaving?"

"No, at least I don't think so. Just remember that okay? I will always love you, you are my sister and I would fight for you. As long as I am around, you won't get hurt."

"Okay," she replied, glad to know I wasn't leaving. I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth. As far as I am concerned, she is my sister, and I love her with all my heart. I couldn't shake that feeling though, that something was coming for me.

I stayed like that, hugging Lissy to me, for most of the morning until we were made to get up. As soon as was possible, I raced down to the smithy, knowing that Will would be there today. I knocked on the door and waited. It swung open and I was greeted, unhappily, by the current blacksmith.

"What'da'ya want?" he asked.

"Could I please see Will?"

He sighed and opened up the door wider, "Make it snappy, he never gets anything done when you're here."

I stepped inside and instantly felt the temperature rise. I squinted around the room while my eyes adjusted. Spotting Will, I walked over, smiling. He saw me and grinned.

"Have a good sleep?" he asked. That immediately wiped the smirk off my face.

"Will, I have a bad feeling."

"What do you mean?"

"I think something is coming for me."

"That's ridiculous! What would be coming for you?"

"I don't know, but Will, if I'm not here, will you look after Lissy?"

"Of course," he said automatically.

"No, Will, I don't think you understand. You can't let anything bad happen to her. Ever. You have to protect her, like I would, if I could. Do you promise?"

"I promise."

"Do you swear?"

"Yes, Clara, I swear. But nothing will get you. I won't let it. I won't let anything take you away from me. I mean, here. Okay?"

I looked at him, not really believing him, when the feeling in the middle of my back grew stronger and stronger until it was physically painful. I heard commotion outside, and it started out quiet, somewhere in the distance. But it steadily grew, rather quickly and I didn't have much time to process what was going on. I could hear loud voices, screaming, gunfire, feet slapping the ground. Swords clanged and there were shouts. I turned to the door just as it was blasted off its hinges, dust and powder billowing up. I heard a scream and was surprised to find it was my own.

Will grabbed my wrist and tugged me behind a barrel, pulling me close. I heard the blacksmith shout but he was promptly silenced, followed by a thud. My stomach tightened and heaved. My hands started to shake and I gripped Will's hand, sweat making them slick.

"Find her," a slippery voice called out and I nearly cried. Oh, please don't let that be me. Will's hand tightened on my own. The barrel we were hiding behind was pushed out of the way and I screamed again. Standing there was a creature that couldn't be described as a man, but had to be. He looked like half the contents of the ocean floor was pasted on his body.

"Found her," he called out and more men just like him appeared beside him. I whimpered, the shaking in my hands increasing.

"Remember the promise," I whispered to Will. He got a hard look in his eye and his face became determined. He lunged at the fish-man, swinging his fists.

"You leave her alone!" he yelled. The fish man just laughed and pulled Will off him, flinging him at the wall.

"WILL!" I screamed, diving towards his still figure. He groaned and I let out a breath of relief.

Cold arms circled around my waist and I screamed again, kicking out with all my might. Blood pumped in my ears, so loud I wondered if they could hear it. It did no good against him, he was too strong, but still I struggled. The fish-man stomped towards the door, tossing me over his shoulder.

"WILL!" I screamed again, watching him as he struggled to get up and follow. In that moment I saw how useless it was. I was just a kid. I stopped struggling in his arms, it was no use. My face felt wet and I reached up to touch it. I pulled my hand away and saw drops of tears. I was crying, slow falling tears running down my face. And suddenly I was so tired, so exhausted. My throat felt raspy and hoarse, my legs and arms felt strained and sore; they throbbed with pain. No doubt there would be bruises blossoming. The knowing, the pain, the grief, the loss, the fighting, it all just built up until it was just too much.

"I'll find you, Clara, I promise," He rasped out, still struggling to get up.

"Will," I whispered before I fainted.

0:o:0:o:0:o:0:o:0:o:0

Consciousness came back to me shortly after as I was being lifted onto a ship. The ship was different from anything I had ever been on before, the sails looked like seaweed and there was water everywhere. It was cold and I pulled my arms closer around me, trying to warm myself up. For the first time in a long time, I felt small and alone. I huddled next to the mast, pulling myself tightly against it, trying to take up the least amount of space possible. I watched the fish-men move about the ship and noticed that they looked exactly like the ship. They were a part of it.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Wood on wood sounded out and I looked towards the sound. I saw a pointed wooden leg and a boot approaching me. My eyes travelled up from the feet to his face and I whimpered. His face was full of tentacle where a beard should be, swinging and swaying as he walked. The skin on his face was like the tentacles, slimy looking. But the most disturbing part wasn't the wooden leg or the tentacles, but his eyes. They were hard and cold. Merciless. They terrified me.

"Welcome to the Flying Dutchman," he said to me, spit flying. The fish-men on board cheered and went about their business. He came closer to me and I pressed myself back into the mast.

"Do you fear _me_?" He asked, his tone seemed snide, but I got the feeling that it was naturally how he spoke.

I looked into his eyes and blurted the truth before I could think better of it.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good," he stated before turning and walking away.

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><p><strong>IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ!<strong>

**Okay, so here is my dilemma; do I write from Will's POV for 'Curse of the Black Pearl' and add in Clara's parts where necessary, OR, do I just skip right ahead to 'Dead Man's Chest' and stick with Clara's point of view? I can't decide.**

**SO, I PUT IT TO YOU. TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK.**

**WHAT DO YOU WANT TO READ?**

**THANKS FOR READING!**


	4. The Flying Dutchman

A Love That Waits

Chapter 4 – The Flying Dutchman

I had stayed in the same spot on deck for the whole three hours since being abducted. That was the right word after all; I was abducted. My muscles ached from being in the same position, ached from the hardness of the wood. My face was numb from the cold sea water that seemed to constantly spray up and slap me in the face on purpose. My fingers gripped each other so tightly I was sure that I had permanently damaged the nerves. My back was sore from the rigid posture I kept despite the swaying of the ship. My arms were clenched around my knees and even though I wanted to relax, I didn't. This was my wish, wasn't it? To meet a pirate?

I felt the decrease in temperature as the sun went down on my bare neck. If my situation had been different, I would have taken the time to watch the glowing orange orb collide with the horizon and spill the last of its rays on my world, colouring the waters in different hues of orange, yellow and pink. But it wasn't, so I only vaguely noted the beauty of the sun set. Instead my heart beat faster as I realised night was encroaching. The dark, shadowy blackness of the night. The thought of being on a ship with pirates who looked like creatures of the sea set my teeth on edge and twisted at my stomach. The lowering sun gave me enough light to see that we were in the middle of the ocean, nowhere near land. Or my family. Or Will. My breathing became shallower and faster and I was sure I was boarding on hysterical.

With the disappearance of the sun also went my blank mind. Suddenly it was a bee-hive of thoughts and questions, churning. What did they want? Were they going to kill me? No, they would have done that already. Right? I don't even know where I am. How can I formulate an escape plan when I didn't know anything?

I felt the tears well up behind my eyes. I blinked, trying to supress them, but I couldn't. They leaked out, flowing down my cheeks. Slowly, unfeelingly, I reached up a hand and wiped them away. I would not cry. At least not in front of them. I felt the warmth of my blood flow back into my unfeeling arms, but I didn't warm all the way.

I looked at my hands and the light from the moon made them look ghostly pale. I wriggled my fingers as the feeling came back. It felt good to move. I glanced up and saw the pirates walking about the ship; doing what they were supposed to do, I assumed. No one so much as glanced at me. No one seemed bothered by my presence. Actually, it was as if I wasn't even there.

Slowly, I stretched my legs out in front of me and almost cried out with relief as I moved. My fingers reached behind me and grasped the mast as I slid my back up the rough wood. I stood there, unmoving as blood rushed to the places it had previously been denied entry to. I looked around the deck and relaxed a little when no one said anything, or did anything. No one pointed at me and yelled "She moved! Get her!", so I took that as a positive sign.

Cautiously I moved to the edge of the ship, stumbling as the ship rocked. My hands grasped onto the rail, or what was left of it and I looked down at the turmoil of the sea. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by its vastness, its sameness, its changeability. How had I never noticed how menacing the sea could be? How dangerous it was? Then again, wasn't that part of what drew me to it? The un-predictableness of it. Yes, that was definitely a part of it.

"I hope you aren't thinking of jumping," a cold voice called to me, mocking me.

I jumped and spun around. Up on the quarterdeck stood the…man, if you could call him that. The way his black eyes swept over the crew made me believe he was the Capitan. His tentacles swayed with the boat. His hard eyes turned to me and for a moment I felt a cold fury wash over me. How had I missed that before? The raw hate and uncaring venom. He could probably smell my fear and for the first time in my life I contemplated purposefully jumping overboard. Just to escape those eyes.

I stood straighter and swallowed the lump in my throat. Show no fear. My eyes meet his in defiance and I hoped he couldn't see my hands shaking. The crew on deck paused and watched.

I attempted a laugh but I think it came out kind of strangled. "And why would I do that?" I asked, adding a dash of superiority that all children of rich and powerful men know how to do. I surprised and happy to hear the steel in my voice. I sounded disdainful. The fact that it didn't shake, despite the state of my hands, was relieving. Show no fear.

An amused smile tilted the corners of his pale mouth and non-existent lips. His whole body rotated to face me and he strode purposefully and slowly towards me, watching my reaction. I amused him. He walked closer and as much as I wanted to back away from him, be as far away from him as possible, I didn't move. The shaking in my hands stopped and suddenly I couldn't feel them again. I was glad for it; he wouldn't see my fear from my hands at least. But then my fingers involuntarily twitched towards the railing, as if to grasp it and move away from him. He noticed.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound bored. "You're the Capitan of the Flying Dutchman," I said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The duh was implied.

His lips moved so I could see his teeth. I would call it a smile, or a grin. It wasn't even a grimace. I didn't know what it is, but it did nothing to ease the knot forming in my gut. He turned to his crew, who were still watching, and flung back his head and laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh; spit went flying and chills went down my spine. The crew joined him.

Suddenly, he stopped laughing and shouted, "Get back to work." The crew automatically obeyed. He turned back to me.

"I am Davy Jones, Capitan of the Flying Dutchman."

"Sorry, never heard of you," I swallowed.

"What is your name?" he demanded. It felt like a loaded question. He wasn't making polite introductions – I'm sure he didn't even care what my name was. It felt like he was testing me in some way.

"Clara Swann," I stated as firmly as possible, though my lips quivered. Just being in Davy Jones' presence made me feel colder; like he repelled the warmth of the world.

"Is that so?" he mocked. The taunt was surely said to make me question him, but I refused to ask, nodding curtly instead. His grin widened. He turned and walked to a door that obviously led to his cabin. I felt like I was supposed to follow him. I hesitated before doing so; I didn't want him to have to come back and drag me.

It was only slightly warmer in here, only because of the lack of wind that roved over the deck. It was still cold. I felt sick. His cabin was draughty and just like the rest of the ship; I was beginning to realise it was the same everywhere. A person could lose themselves in this unchanging, depressing ship.

"Why am I here?" I blurted, before I had a chance to think better of it. What if I angered him.

"Your daddy made a deal with the devil," he spat. This was the way he spoke; spitting, hurling, mocking, taunting words at you.

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously.

"Your father made a deal with me," he elaborated, the constant anger and cruelty in his voice.

"I guessed you were the devil," I spat at him. I didn't care if he was cruel and evil and mean. I didn't want to be here, aboard this poor excuse for a ship.

His malicious grin was still in place, unaffected by my harsh words, "My, my, you are like your father."

"Governor Swann-"

He cut me off, "Your father, Hector Barbossa."

He watched as that sunk in. The name meant nothing to me. As far as I was concerned, my father was Governor Swann. All this information did was give name to one of the parents who set me to sea. His sadistic smile was still in place and I continued to stare at him. So, my dear old daddy made a deal with the ruthless Capitan of the Flying Dutchman. Somehow, I wasn't entirely surprised.

"A life for a life," Jones said. "You've just joined the ranks of the Flying Dutchman crew."

I froze. I stopped breathing. No. no. This can't be. I refuse, I will not be a part of this crew. I will not join with a sadistic, treacherous man. I just want to go home. No. what felt like hours passed.

I shook my head and couldn't seem to stop, "No," I gasped out finally, though it was only a whisper. "No," I said, louder this time.

Jones' attempt at a smile morphed into something more horrible, if that was even possible.

"I refuse," I said stubbornly.

"A deal was made; you have no choice," he said. He sounded happy and malicious at the same time. he liked that I was in turmoil. He liked that chaos and disorder and pain plagued me now.

"I don't want to become like them," I cried, gesturing to the deck of the ship where the sea creatures were.

"Oh, you won't. I have plans for you, and I need you human looking. You will keep your link to humanity," he snarled.

"What?" I was so confused. He walked back to the door and flung it open.

"Maccus," He yelled. Less than three seconds later, one of the crew joined us. His head was shaped like a the head of a hammer-head shark; his teeth as sharp and pointed as one. There was seaweed and corral and grime sticking to his grey skin and his worn clothing. He looked menacing like this. "Take… Clara," he said my name as a joke. "To her quarters'. She must be tired," he said, uncaringly. He didn't care if I was tired; he only cared that I was confused and he was denying me answers. I hate him.

I followed behind Maccus and swallowed hard. Just to the right was another door which he opened. When I stepped inside, he swung the door shut and left me alone. Alone. Anguish washed over me; I was alone. My breathing got deep again and this time I didn't try to stop the tears.

The room was significantly smaller than the Capitan's cabin. There was a bed against the far wall and a chest against the wall with the door. There was a small porthole window, but it was pitch black. There was even a box-type bedside table with an oil-lantern sitting on it. At least I would have some light. It was creaky as the ship rocked against the waves. I walked over to the bed and trailed a hand along the plush mattress before sitting down on it. It wasn't as soft as my bed back home, but it wasn't hard like the wood everywhere else. I lay on the bed and curl into a tight ball, sobbing.

I cried for what I had lost; a home, a family, friends. My life was gone, the one I had never appreciated fully. Not until it was gone. I cried because I was alone for the first time in my memory, really alone. There was a difference between being alone and being lonely, but right now it felt like the same thing. I cried for the future I would never get to live; to grow up and marry, to watch my sister grow up. And eventually I cried for unconsciousness to take me.

My soft sobbing eventually became more violent and soon I was raking in shuddering breaths as I gulped for air. My eyes were sore and undoubtedly red and swollen. I shivered but I didn't move. I couldn't. Not long after, I fell asleep, the sweet obliviousness claiming me.

For a while, I drifted between consciousness and the void of sleep, sometimes awake, sometimes asleep. Eventually though, unconsciousness overtook my exhausted body.

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><p><strong>So, what did you think?<strong>

**And a BIG THANK YOU to all those who reviewed, added me to their favourite authors/stories lists and who has this as a story alert.**

**It means so much to me that you take the time to do this!**

**Love to you all.**


	5. The Kraken

A Love That Waits

Chapter 5 – The Kraken

Growing up on the Flying Dutchman was hard. There was no warmth, no family, no paternal atmosphere. No love. I guess that was expected, though, when you live on board a ship of pirates. My whole life I had wanted to meet a pirate. My whole life I had wanted to be at sea – it fascinated me. I guess my wishes came true. Not in the way I had thought, but nevertheless, they came true. And for that I don't know whether to be grateful or not.

I stretched out on my bed before rolling over and facing the wooden wall. It was just like the rest of the ship; damp. Also to be expected when your ship goes underwater. Bits of corral, shells, and algae littered my room and adorned the walls. It always smelled of salty water and no matter how hard you tried, you could never get fully warm. The cold stayed deep inside your bones and no number of blankets could change that. But the scary part was that I was used to it now. I don't know how or when that happened, but it did. And it scared me.

I sighed and rolled over again, trying in vain to go to sleep. But sleep, of course, evaded me when I wanted it most. Thoughts ran through my mind and I couldn't stop them. Of course I couldn't stop them. I wanted to sleep, so of course the thoughts whirled in my mind and made it impossible; sarcasm was apparent even in my head. The wooden planks overhead creaked and I gave up on trying to go back to sleep.

I sat up and stretched my hands over my head before yawing. It had been exactly three months and twelve days since I had been taken aboard the Flying Dutchman. I stayed in my room as long as I could for the first week, hoping that if I didn't express my presence, they would forget about me. Unfortunately though, hunger would lure me out and Davy Jones would have a sadistic, smug look on his face, like he knew I was hiding. Eventually, I stopped hiding; I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing I was scared. It took another three days before I stopped skirting the edges of the ship, sticking to shadows. I couldn't do this for the rest of my life; it wasn't a life worth living.

I opened the chest which held clothing for me; no dresses, or frills or pretty things. Pirate things; breachers, draw-string shirts and boots. As much as I hated it here, as hard as I tried to come up with an escape plan, it was no use. I was stuck here. Stuck on this ghostly ship. I removed my white nightie and threw it into the chest before changing quickly.

My hair was another thing entirely. Without Penny here, my hair was up to me. I didn't know how to style it like she did, I didn't know how to braid properly, so I tied a bandana to my head. At least it would keep the hair pulled back. I walked out onto the deck and waited for my eyes to adjust before walking out further. The bright happy rays of the sun washed the wooden planks in a yellow glow. It did nothing to warm me though.

The crew were already up, of course. I didn't know what I was doing here or why I was here. I just wanted to leave. Hope stayed lit like a beacon inside me, giving me strength.

I didn't do chores, I didn't clean or cook, didn't pull ropes or kept look out. I just stayed with Davy Jones, not out of desire though but because he demanded it of me. I learnt about the ship when I watched the crew; how it worked and moved.

A salty breeze whipped up from the ocean and danced tresses of my hair around my face. The one good thing about this situation was the fact that I was on the sea; somewhere I had always wanted to be. I've always been drawn to the sea, and now I finally got the chance to be a part of a life on it. But that was the only good thing.

In three months, I had become stronger. You had to be strong on a ship like this. I could feel myself becoming colder, bolder and stronger. I had to. I would show no fear. If the sails of the ship looked to me like the sails of death, I didn't say it. If the crew who looked like parts of the sea scared me, I didn't look at them. If the constant coldness and malice that permeates the ship gives me shivers, I didn't show it. I was building a wall around myself and every day that wall got stronger. Sure, I still had hope, but I was trying to be practical. I wasn't getting off this ship any time soon.

And always at the forefront of my mind was the father who got me into this situation. What kind of parent sold out their own child? Who could give someone away? Someone who was their own flesh and blood? Hector Barbossa. He has hurt me more than I thought possible, and I don't even know the man. It hurt to know he didn't care enough to keep me. He practically gave me away to a monster, probably without a second thought. I hated him for that. Anger rumbled inside my chest at the thought of him. And right next to it was pain. But I wouldn't let anyone see it.

Over the days I had learnt a lot about the Flying Dutchman and it's Capitan. He was cruel and menacing; the crew were afraid of him, but they didn't show it. He was ruthless and sadistic and treacherous. I was beginning to realise that the ship represented his soul; cold, uncared for, gritty, broken. Never before had I come across evil in my life. I guess there's a first for everything. And today, I was going to get my first lesson on the extent of his malice towards others. But I didn't know it yet.

As I walked up to the quarter deck I saw Bill out of the corner of my eye. I had gotten to know him in sparing minutes; he was nice, yes, but he was still employed to Davy Jones. He was a part of the crew, of the ship. I remember the first time I met him, three weeks ago.

_I was hiding in the hold. Again. It was even dank down here, though it was dank everywhere; I didn't know why I thought it would be any different. But today was different. Today I had someone next to me, someone who said his name was Bill. He seemed nice enough, different from the other's. he was quieter; soft spoken even._

_My eyes slid to my left and I looked at him. "Why are you here?" I asked, once again speaking before thinking._

_His eyes slid to mine and he frowned at me. I thought he would snarl something at me, but instead he said, "Because I was afraid to die."_

_I was surprised at his answer; it was nothing like I was expecting. Not at all. I looked at him and scrutinised him. He had shoulder-length scraggly wisps of hair that seemed perpetually wet. He was big, but then again, everyone looked big to a twelve year old. His skin was pale and water-logged. He was a part of the sea too, but he was also the closest to human out of all the crew._

_Maccus stomped down the wooden stairs and Bill quickly moved away from, picking up a box and walking off like we weren't even talking._

I concentrated back to the present and watched as the ghost ship sailed along the water. Out in the distance I could see the outline of a ship, probably a fishing ship. I thought nothing of it and looked down at the water. It looked bluer today and it washed against the sides. I leant over a bit and felt the salty spray fly up and splash my face. The coolness of it washed away the last of the laziness that sleep brought with it. A small smile tilted my lips as the salty smell became stronger. I wiped the puffy sleeve of my shirt over my face, feeling slightly better.

When I looked back up, I saw the ship was closer now, about one hundred meters away. I frowned; why were we so close to the ship? In three months, I hadn't seen any ship at all and now we were closing in on one faster and faster.

The hope flared inside me, brighter this time. Maybe I could call for help! I could be rescued. I could go home. Excitement bubbled in my stomach and my face was suddenly sporting a full-on grin. I could go home! My body tingled with anticipation and I couldn't wait for the ship to get closer. I pressed my stomach against the rail, as if the force of my will could make the ship go faster.

Minutes passed and I realised we weren't getting any closer. I heard commotion behind me and turned to look at what was going on. Jones stood next to the wheel and a smile of pure menace was on his face.

Something was wrong.

Something bad was going to happen; I could feel it. The smile slipped from my lips and the excitement turned to nervousness. Sweat broke out over my forehead and I felt my nerves tingle again, but not in a good way. My hands shook and I felt sick.

The crew were walking around the mast, pushing…well, I didn't know what it was. I looked like a giant wheel around the base of the mast, about one and a half meters tall. A crew member was behind each spoke of the wheel, pushing. While Jimmy Legs had a whip, slashing at them. The whip had spike on it and the crew turning the wheel cried out whenever it hit them, tearing skin. Blood welled up and I thought I was going to be sick. There was a metallic clicking that set my teeth biting down on my tongue. My hands gripped the rail so tightly that my knuckles were outlined in white. Something bad was going to happen, but I don't know what.

Davy Jones' feral grin turned brutal and he looked at me as he shout, "Release the Kraken!" spit and water flew from him.

The crew cheered and suddenly they stopped winding the wheel and it fell to the deck surface. I felt a blast centre under the ship and ripple outwards. The ship rocked with the force and I fell to the ground. The water rippled and a wave was racing towards the other ship. What had they unleashed?

My eyes widened and locked on the ship. I didn't blink. Didn't move. There was a pause, like the calm before the storm. Massive tentacles, thicker than my body sprung up from the water and wrapped around the ship. I could see blurry shapes jump into the water as the tentacles squeezed. Wood splintered; I could hear the cracking from here. I heard screams and other tentacles wove around the ship, grabbing men, killing them, drowning them. Pulling them under the surface. Them and their ship.

I ran to Davy, not taking my eyes off the ship, "Stop!" I shouted, my voice hoarse. It cracked.

He ignored me and I grabbed onto his arm, which was a crabs claw. "Please, stop. They don't deserve this," I cried. He had to listen, he had to stop. He flung out his arm and slapped me in the face with it. I tumbled back to the ground and held the side of my face, gasping.

"Learn your place," He spat.

Anger clouded my mind and suddenly I was furious. I jumped back up, "My place?" I shouted at him, taking a threatening step towards him. My lips curled up into a snarl and I wanted to hit him. A wild torrent of laughter escaped my lips; it was absurd. My place? My place was at Port Royale. How dare he do this! "Stop this!" I commanded. He ignored me.

The ship was finally dragged below the surface and I cried out, running to the edge of the rail again. I searched for survivors in the water, but it was too far away to see. I spun around and looked at Davy. "You're a monster," I snarled. "What made you so cold, so cruel?" I whispered, the fight draining from me.

His face got right into mine and suddenly he was the one threatening me. "Everyone deserves pain, deserves suffering," He said coldly.

"No they don't," I retorted. I turned my back on him.

But I frowned again when we were closer to the ship. We were moving to when the ship had been. Bits of wood and supplies floated about. I saw a body faced down in the water. I felt bile rise in my throat. "What's going on?" I choked out.

No one answered me. They just continued what they were doing. Soon, men were pulled aboard the ship. I frowned again, what were they doing? They just tried to kill them, now they were trying to save them? I was so confused.

Four men, blood on their faces. They were dirty and scared and there was just so much blood. They kneeled next to each other as Jones walked down their ranks. They shook. Davy stopped in front of one; one who wasn't shaking surprisingly, like the rest of them. There was a set of rosary beads around his neck, tucked under his shirt.

Davy bent down and got right in his face. "Do you fear death?" he spat at him, spittle flying. It was similar to what he had asked me and I felt sick. The man looked up at Davy Jones with unflinching boldness. He did not waver under the deathly glare he was receiving.

"No. I don't," He said firmly. I stared at this man. How could he be so brave?

Davy snorted and drew out the sword from his belt before plunging it into the man's chest. I heard a scream and was distantly aware that it was mine.

"What are you doing?" I gasped. I stumbled backwards, grasping the railing with suddenly bloodless fingers. They threw the body over the rail and it was swept to sea.

"If they don't fear it, they can join it," Davy said with a shake of his tentacles. Before moving on to the next men. They were shaking harder after watching the display of valiant courage and heartless dispassion. They didn't want to die.

Davy Jones made short work of them; they joined him willingly, giving their lives to the Dutchman. A century of servitude and unwavering loyalty to the Capitan. Anything to put off the inevitable.

I would never forget the brave man, whose name I didn't know.

I went back to my cabin, slowly as if in a daze, stumbling whenever I didn't lift my legs high enough. I had witnessed death and cruelty; something my sheltered life never exposed me to. I would be brave, like that man. I could be, if I tried. I would be strong.

And I would never forget.

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><p><strong>Okay, so i know this chapter wasn't as good, but i still want to know what you're thinking!<strong>

**Your input is important to me.**


	6. Escape

A Love That Waits

Chapter 6 – Escape

Wood creaked. Water dripped. I was cold.

I lay in bed, my eyes wide and searching. There was a tiny slither of light from the pale moon that shone through my porthole. I shivered under my blankets. I took a deep breath before slowly counting to three in my head.

One. Deep breath in.

Two. Deep breath out.

Three. Time to put my plan into action.

As quietly as I could, I lifted the blankets off me and tried to manoeuvre myself so the wooden frame of the bed wouldn't creak. I stood up, still clothed in what I had been wearing that day. No more nighties for me. I slipped my cold feet into my boots and as quietly as I could, walked to my door.

The deck was deserted and eerily silent. Without the movement of day, the ship really did seem ghostly. My footsteps were silent as I crossed to port side and descended the footholds on the side of the ship. This was it; my chance. My clammy hands gripped the rough wood in my hands and sea water crashed against me. I hung like that, against the side of the ship for a moment longer before dropping into the water.

The impact of hitting the water wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, and I wished that no one heard the splash and investigated. Paddling my legs, I bobbed to the surface and swam away from the ship. It did me no good though and the current of moving water pushed me against it. It was dark and the water tossed me as easily as I would toss a ball. My arms and legs hurt from trying to fight the water; my mind in a panic. Then I remembered the plan and relaxed.

I closed my eyes and willed myself down. Down down down. Lower and lower. The salty water stung when I opened my eyes but I ignored it. I was under the sea. I tilted my head back and saw the ship pass over me. And away from me. I was under the sea, and breathing. I was off the ship! Pure exhilaration rose in me as I watched the ship and no one came after me.

Earlier that day I had listened to Davy talk about the maps, where we were. We were heading in the general direction of Tortuga and I timed it so my escape would be executed when we were the closest to it.

I swam back to the surface and bobbed there on the waves. I frowned; I hadn't planned this part. All I had thought about was getting off the ship, then to Tortuga. I hadn't thought about how I was going to get there. Panic bubbled up inside my chest again and I fought to remain calm. It was no good to become hysterical. It wouldn't help me out of this situation.

The water was cold and I thought about all the creatures that lived in the sea, especially the ones who would love a nice, tasty twelve year old girl to snack on. My eyes watered.

Okay, think Clara. Think of the map. Okay, we were supposed to sail parallel with the east coast of Tortuga, far enough away that you couldn't see land, but close enough that we had a bearing. And which direction had the ship been sailing? Desperately I tried to remember which way it had sailed from me. I swivelled around in the water and pretended that I was swimming behind the ship. Okay, so now I'm swimming parallel with Tortuga. Which means Tortuga is on my left. I swam in that direction.

I don't know how long I swam in that direction, my arms moving in slow strides, my legs kicking. I was panting heavily and gasping for air. My arms and legs screamed at me to stop, but I didn't. I couldn't. I had to get away. I was tired. I was cold. I was hungry.

Then I noticed an outline ahead of me. I could distantly see spots of light. I cried out in relief. I was close, so close. I stopped moving and felt the buzzing in my system as anticipation bubbled in my stomach. That's when I noticed that the water was pulling me towards the land ahead. I didn't have to move, I could just let the waves wash me ashore.

Closer and closer I got until the water became shallow and I could stand up. I waded to the beach and collapsed on the sand. Never had I been so happy. I lay there for I don't know how long, fighting for my breath back. I wanted to sleep; I could feel myself slipping into oblivion.

I sat up quickly and made myself move. I wandered around the streets, the dirty, filthy streets. It was nothing like Port Royale. That thought brought a pang of home-sickness.

I wandered to the harbour and snuck into a pub, where I saw many sailors were going; they wandered in here from the harbour, which was close by. It was just as filthy in here, as it was out there. A heavy cloud of smoke hung in the air and I choked on it. I walked around the edges of room, hoping no one would notice me and kick me out. I listened for anyone getting out of here, but it was loud and overwhelming. This place was a sensory overload.

I collapsed in a corner, huddling there. I was an idiot. How was I going to find anyone in here willing to take a child, let alone a girl, out to sea and away from Davy Jones? How? I didn't think anything through. I was blinded by my want to escape. I sat there and felt tears well up in my eyes. I was either going to be stuck here forever or I was going to be captured, or something worse.

"Come on lads, back to the Angelina. We need to get that cargo to Port Royale…"

My head snapped up and I spotted a man herding others out towards the door. My mouth dropped open and I gasped. No way. I sprung up and chased after the man.

"Excuse me," I tugged on his sleeve. He frowned at my strange attire. "Please, take me with you."

"No stowaways," he deadpanned before turning away.

"No, you don't understand. My father is Governor Swann," I pleaded. I had to go with them; I had to. I had to get home.

"Are you now? Well we'll be sure to tell 'im you said hi," the man taunted.

"I'm serious!" I shouted.

"So am I. No stowaways."

"But-"

"Answer me this then; what are you doing here? Why aren't you at home, in your nice cushy bed?" he asked rudely.

"I was kidnapped-"

"Well ain't that convenient?" he mocked. "Who kidnapped you? Davy Jones?" he laughed, his voice boisterous and booming.

"Actually-"

"Stop wasting my time kid." And with that he walked off. I stood there, gaping. He was leaving without me. He didn't believe me. Determination set in my mind and I took off after him. He stopped to gather his drunk crew again and I scuttled around him, dashing down the pier. I ran down it, looking at the back of each ship for the name Angelina. Almost at the end, I found it. I looked back down the pier to make sure no one was watching before walking on the board of wood to get on the ship.

It was quiet; obviously no one wanted to pass up the opportunity to drink some rum. I hurried down to the hold where the supplies going to Port Royale were stored. There was a dark corner, shrouded by shadows where I could hide. The streaming light didn't reach it so I would be covered in perpetual darkness. Just as I settled there and pulled some barrels in front of me, I heard people clamouring aboard and the loud slap of boots on wood. then there was shouting and the steps got louder.

The ship shuddered before I felt it move, rocking on the waves. We were moving to Tortuga. I couldn't believe I had made it this far. Three days and I would be in Port Royale. Happiness bubbled inside me and threatened to gush out my mouth in a shout of triumph. But I held it in. it would be no good to be discovered.

The days passed slowly and my body ached from being in the same position for hours on end. When night came, I took the opportunity to walk a bit. I investigated some barrels and found apples. Green apples. My favourite. I bit into it and the sweet juices laved my tongue. I almost cried out again. It had been so long since I'd had an apple.

The third day I was a bundle of nerves. I didn't know what I was going to do when we got there and the seemingly endless hours gave me no plan, not even an inkling of an idea to begin making a plan. When the ship came to a stop, I panicked. What was I going to do? The sailors were bustling around on deck, making a lot of noise. I could hear towns people outside, on the pier.

Maybe if I seemed casual enough, they would mistake me for someone from the town who climbed aboard to help. Yeah, right, but it was worth a try. I jumped up and walked to the main part of hold, where people were currently congregated. Surprisingly, they didn't even notice me as I brushed past them and climbed the stairs to the deck. I cringed every time they creaked and every time I walked past a sailor, I hoped it wasn't the Capitan.

Somehow, by magic or luck, I don't know, but somehow, I made it off the ship and onto the pier. When the towns people saw me, they stopped. And stared. And then glared. What was wrong with them? Didn't they recognise me? They whispered and pointed and one boy even ran off.

I frowned, what was going on?

"She's a pirate!" one woman said, trying to whisper to the woman beside her. A pirate? I wasn't a pirate! Why would they think that? I looked down at myself and my excitement plummeted. I was dressed like a pirate.

I became panicked again; Port Royale was very strict about its pirate policies. Even to children. Down the pier I saw the boy who ran away before, come running back out. Behind him was a band of three men in the uniform of the British army. They stalked towards me. I backed up, my hands automatically coming up in a surrendering gesture. They carried guns in their hands.

A cold sweat broke out over my body as I looked at the guns, glinting in the sun. I backed away to the edge of the pier, eyes locked on the men in uniform. The thought; I'm going to die, popped into my head and I took another step backwards.

As my weight shifted to my other foot, I realised that there was nothing under it. I teetered on the edge before falling into the water below. The cool liquid surrounded my body and I swam lower. If I stayed down here long enough, they might think I drowned. Then they might leave.

Bullets penetrated the water and I swam lower still, but not before one hit my arm. The bullet passed right though my skin, tearing the flesh and spilling my blood. I screamed and bubbles gushed from my mouth. The pain sliced through me. It was worse than anything I've ever felt. I fell over and scrapped my knee when I was little, but this pain was way worse. The bright red of my blood mixed with the water, diluting it until it disappeared. I looked down at me arm and saw the hole in my white shirt. At least, the shirt used to white; now it was tinged red around the hole.

I clenched my teeth to stop from crying out and screaming again, making myself swim right to the bottom. I sat on the sand and ripped the hole in my shirt wider, so I could see. The wound was gaping and went right through my arm. It was a clean shot at least; I wouldn't have to dig the bullet out. There was so much red around it though, even in this water.

That's when the tingling started.

The frayed edges of my skin around the wound started to tingle and stretch. Pain exploded again and I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing deeply. I tried to concentrate on the environment around me but I couldn't open my eyes. Instead, I noted how peaceful it was down here, how my hearing was muted somewhat and there was a constant caress of water on my skin. It was calming.

The pain receded a bit and I looked down at my arm again. I gasped and choked on water. The skin was knitting back together, covering the hole in my skin. The red vanished from my skin and when the tingling stopped, I ran my hand over the smooth, unbroken skin of my arm. There was no clue that I had even been shot in the first place. I was healed.

What has Davy Jones not told? Then again, I'm surprised I didn't work it out sooner. He is tasked with sailing the seas forever; that means he can't die, I suppose. But he was alive. Maybe, if he isn't wounded through the heat, he'll heal. Maybe. Oh, I don't know. I'm so confused.

All I know is I'm not imperious to pain. And what just happened must be a side effect of being a part of the crew aboard the Flying Dutchman.

Slowly I stood up. I had to be careful while I tried to get home. I walked along the seabed towards the beach which, at this time of the day, would be quiet, if not deserted. The ground became an incline and I walked up, until my bead broke the surface. It was a weird feeling to suddenly not be surrounded by water completely. I walked on but when the water got to my knees, I stopped. There was a little girl, about seven years old standing on the beach watching me. I knew her. I frowned as I searched my memory for her name. Madeline.

She stared at me, eyes wide and for a moment I was scared that she was going to scream, or run away. But her small lips lifted up into an amazing smile. She ran towards me, splashing in the water.

"Clara," she giggled in her child voice. It was high-pitched and suited her perfectly.

I felt a smile tug at my own lips; her laughter was infectious. "Madeline."

She was two feet away from me when she stilled. She stood there, her smile faltering and her eyes becoming saucers. Her lips parted and she looked like she wanted to scream.

I spun around, the medium of the water was denser than air, so I nearly fell down in my haste. Maccus, Angler, Broondjogen and Clanker were there, walking towards me. Out further, I could see the ghostly outline of the Flying Dutchman.

"No," I gasped, retreating quickly. Too quickly. This time I did tumble down and I accidentally pulled Madeline with me. I sprung back up as fast as the water would allow, grabbing her and heaving her with me. "Go," I shouted to her, and threw her back towards the shore, standing in front of her. But she just stood there, fear paralysing her.

And then they were upon us. Threatening and menacing. My heart beat double time and Angler's slimy hands gripped my arms, holding me still. Maccus grabbed Madeline and I cried out. Angler's grasp was strong and steel-like. I wriggled and squirmed desperately, but I couldn't get away.

"Let her go! She has nothing to do with this," I yelled at Maccus. Madeline's upper lip quivered and her eyelashes were heavy with tears. In that moment I wished she had run away screaming from me.

Maccus grinned at me wickedly, "You brought this upon yourself. Davy Jones is not happy with you." With his free hand, he withdrew his sword from his belt and placed it along Madeline's delicate neck.

"I promise I won't run away again! I promise," I whispered hoarsely. "Just let her go."

Maccus' pointed teeth glinted dangerously. "Then this is to make sure you don't," and with that he slip the edge of his sword along her neck and she went limp. The light in her eyes dulled and blood dripped down her dress, staining it before mixing with the blue of the sea.

"No!" I screamed and kicked back against Angler. He loosened his grip for a moment and I used it to my advantage, yanking free and throwing myself at Maccus, just in time to catch her broken body as he dropped it into the water. I cradled her to me and watched as the tears flowing down my cheeks dropped onto her, mingling with her blood. "I'm sorry," I whispered. It was rough and so completely inadequate that I said it again and again.

There was so much blood, more blood than I thought she had in her. She was so small. And it was my fault.

Maccus grabbed me roughly, pulling me away from her lifeless form. She would never grow up. Maccus dragged me along the seabed and I let him. She would never see her next birthday. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her body, floating there, and I imagined the look on the face of the person who found her. Horror. She would never fall in love. Bile rose in my throat and it burned but it did nothing to stop the torrent of thoughts in my mind. She would never see her family again. Down, Maccus dragged me down as he marched back to the Flying Dutchman, and I let him. She would never have a family of her own. I could no longer see Madeline. And I never would again. Because she would never live again or draw another breath. She would never see another sunset or sunrise, never hug her family, never kiss her husband. There was so much she would never get to do. Her life was taken away before it even really started.

Silent tears leaked down my face. It was my fault.

I was pulled aboard the Dutchman and dumped on the hard wooden deck. I didn't even feel it. I was numb. A crowd gathered around me and Jones pushed his way to the front. He sneered down at me, uncaring. He glanced at Maccus.

"No survivors," Maccus said.

"Good," the feral grin graced Davy Jones' feature again. "You thought you could run away. How…cute." The crew laughed. I said nothing. I just stared unseeingly at his face. "Five lashings," he spat before turning away. "That should teach her."

I was pulled up right and distantly I was aware of the back of my shirt being torn open. It didn't matter.

Then I heard a crack and something sharp descended on my back, tearing the skin. Pain lashed through my numb composure, and I was no longer numb. Again, the whip came down on me and I screamed as it sliced into the previous cut. Pain clouded my mind and I stopped thinking coherently. Pain. Whip. Slice. Tear. Pain. A copper scent filled the air and my stomach heaved. Blood trickled on my skin, feeling so much like droplets of seawater. My stomach heaved again. Red coloured the thin layer of water that was pooled at my feet. Pain. Whip. Slice. Blood. Madeline.

And just like that I was thinking again. The pain of the whip receded and an image of Madeline's smile entered my mind. She would never smile again.

Her dull eyes and still form after Maccus had sliced her throat would forever be imprinted in my mind. The bright red blood on the pale white expanse of her skin. Her blood was on my hands.

Hands released my arms and I collapsed to the ground. My back throbbed, my eyes stung and my heart ached. Minutes passed as I lay there. Finally I moved, and struggled to get up. A gentler pair of hands to the ones that held me still, helped me up and my eyes meet Bill's. I cried no more; I had no more tears left, surely. He helped me to my cabin and said nothing. I said nothing as he left me there. The wounds would heal, just like the bullet wound. I curled into a ball on my bed. I didn't care if I got blood on the sheets. I didn't care if it stung to stretch the cuts. I didn't care about my own pain.

I was stupid to be rebellious.

I was stupid to try to escape.

I was stupid to test Davy Jones' limits.

Because of me, a little innocent girl was dead. It was different to seeing the man die. It was so much worse. Knowing it was my fault she died, just killed me inside too.

Needless to say, I never tried to escape again.

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	7. Seven Years Later

A Love That Waits

Chapter 7 – Seven Years Later

I roughly raked my hand through the wild untamed curls of my hair. I had given up trying to tame it years ago, letting it grow long and curly. There didn't seem to be a single strand of my hair that didn't loop and curl around another, creating thick bundles. I blame the sea water and the whipping wind, but if I was honest I would say that I loved the bouncy curls.

The sun was high in the sky but it did nothing to brighten the day, did nothing to warm the ship. I was lost in perpetual cold. My boots made soft thumping sounds as I half walked – half jogged up the stairs to the quarter deck. It was long past the days when I scuttled about quietly and hid.

It had been seven years since Will promised he'd find me. I wish he hadn't; I wish he made a different promise to one he couldn't keep. The promise was empty and unfulfilled. I'd given up hoping that anyone would rescue me. With a quiet wince, I remembered when I tried to escape. Seven years since Madeline died. In all that time, I had never forgiven myself. How could I? I get to grow up, live my life. She never would.

I don't know how, but I built a wall around myself. I didn't let anything get through. Death. Pain. Cruelty. It was all a part of life on the Flying Dutchman. It made me hate my father even more, for subjecting me to this life. It was his fault that I had to build a wall in the first place. I hate him with a passion. I kept my humanity; it's the reason I didn't become like the rest of the crew. It's why this was so hard; because with humanity comes human feelings. It makes me human. The pain and sickness I experience when I witness death. When I witness malice and menace. It was why I wasn't bound to the ship in the way the other crew members were, and yet I was like them. I could do what they could. When the ship had sunk under the sea; I hadn't drowned. Hadn't suffocated. I could breathe, like them. I was a part of the sea, like them.

In seven years I had grown up. I was no longer the little girl from Port Royale. I was a woman, and a pirate. I embraced life as a pirate. After all, that is what I'd always wanted.

In seven years, I wondered how Lissy and father and Will were.

WILL P.O.V.

The town buzzed with news that a pirate was loose and that he had threatened Miss Swan. What was with the women in that family? First Clara, now Elizabeth. A pang went through my chest, as it always did when I thought of Clara. I had failed her, so spectacularly. Seven years since she was taken from me, and I had long since grown up. Learned my place. I couldn't help but wonder how Clara would have changed in that time. Her sister had grown into a beautiful woman; had she? Of course she had. There was no doubt in my mind. I missed her.

Without her, Elizabeth and I hadn't maintained our friendship very well, separated by class. Clara was the glue that held us all together. She had kept us friends and kept her father happy at the same time. Now a polite civility existed between myself and Elizabeth and not for the first time, I wished Clara was still here.

I pushed open the door to my smithy – it wasn't really mine, but I did the work while the owner got drunk and passed out. I didn't mind, though it would be nice if the customers were aware that I was the one who made their orders. It was dark, as it often was in a blacksmith, fire constantly going. It made it stiflingly warm in here, and if you weren't used to it, you would try to escape.

When I turned around, I realised the donkey was pushing the wheel. I ran over to him and calmer him, making him stop. I looked around the room, trying to find what had spooked him. Nothing made itself known. I pulled off my overcoat as I walked back to where Mr Brown undoubtedly would be. A bottle of rum lay at his feet and his head was tilted back as he snored. Typical.

"Right where I left you," I said, more to myself than to him. I turned back around dropped my overcoat on a chair. In front of me stood an anvil with a pointed hammer. Nothing unordinary. Except for the fact that I hadn't left that pointed hammer there in the first place. I frowned, "Not where I left you."

There was a table situated just beside, and on top of all the equipment was a hat I had never seen before. I reached forward to grab it but a sword suddenly slapped the top of my hand. I jumped and retracted my hand. The sword was in the hand of a pirate, for that is all he could be. His hair was matted in dreadlocks with beads woven in and there was kohl outlining his eyes. I watched the pirate walk around the table, his sword pointed at my chest and he stalked towards me.

"You're the one they're looking for," I said as I backed away. Surprisingly, I was not scared to have this pirate threaten me. I was angry. "The pirate," I spat.

The said pirate squinted his eyes at me, "You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?" he asked.

"I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates," I said harshly.

"Ah, so it would be a shame to put a black mark on your record, so if you'll excuse me," he turned to leave. He was not like other pirate; not like the ones who took Clara. But he was a pirate nevertheless. I grabbed a sword off a hook on the wheel behind me and quickly whipped it up and pointed it at the pirates head. He spun around and looked at me. "Crossing blades with a pirate?"

"Do you think this wise boy?" he asked me.

"You threatened Miss Swann," I said, voice hard. _And your kind took Clara from me._

He moved the blade of his sword so it slid back and forth over my blade. A metallic noise was made and it grated on my nerves. Taunting me.

"Only a little," he smiled. He swung first; three little hits. I blocked each one and we paused. He was testing me.

In the first few blows, I concentrated on my defence and let my muscles settle back into the rhythm of sword fighting. I'd practised with a sword the last seven years of my life and I'd gotten better as time passed. The pirate seemed unhappy to see that I knew what I was doing. We traded feints, thrusts and parries with a speed that came with an accomplished fighter and a practised hand. My feet balanced me easily and my hand defended me. I could match the pirate easily.

We slid across the dirt covered ground, back and forth. "You know what you're doing, I'll give you that," the pirate said. "Excellent form. But how's your footwork? If I step here—" his leg crossed over the other as he took a step to the side in an imaginary circle. I stepped the other way, copying the movement and maintaining the fight between us.

"Very good. And if I step again—" he did the same thing again, and I copied him. We ended so we were exactly opposite where we had originally been. "Ta," he said as he sheathed his sword and turned around to walk out the door that was now directly behind him. He had played me!

Annoyed surprise roiled inside me and with a sharp overhead motion, I threw my sword. It buried itself into the wood of the door, just above the latch. A satisfied smirk lifted my lips as the sword had only just missed the pirate. He pulls on the latch, but it won't budge, the sword blocks it from moving. Despite this, he still rattles the latch before attempting to pull the sword out of the wood. It did not move. His shoulder slump in dismay, his lips moving as he mouths a curse and turns back to see my smiling face.

"That is a wonderful trick," he said, walking back towards me. "Except, once again, you are between me and my way out. Now, you have no weapon," he said, drawing his sword out again. My eyes widen as I realise he's right. I spin around and spot the fire. There was a poker sitting in it, and I grabbed it, spinning back around. The tip that had been in the fire glowed red hot and I made a mental note to keep it away from my skin.

The donkey shrieks and starts to move the wheel at the appearance of the glowing poker. The pirates eyes narrowed on the tip of it. He dashes to my left and I spin around backwards to meet him; our weapons clash and ring and sparks fall from the poker. He went back the other way and I followed, reversing my previous move. Back and forth we move and our blades meet in an 'X'. He swings the chain still manacled to his wrist at me and it smashes into my weapon. The poker flew across the room. I was disarmed.

I spun and dived over a moving spoke from the wheel the donkey rotated before quickly grabbing another sword. The pirate glances at the wheel and suddenly becomes aware that the wheel was holding multiple swords, in various stages of completion.

"Who makes all these?" he asked me in disbelief.

Our swordplay became increasingly harder as we moved around and over the spokes of the wheel. I jumped up onto a spoke and balanced there. The pirate did a similar thing and we were separated by the main post.

I leaned towards one side of the post and swung my blade, "I do." I moved back and swung to the other side, "And I practise with them." I swung back to the other side again, "Three hours a day." Each set of words were punctuated on either side of the revolving pole. My voice was laced with exertion. It was one thing to practise by yourself, and another to have an opponent.

"You need to find yourself a girl, mate," he said, clinging to the side of the pole.

I felt my jaw clench and I swung at his head. He ducked. Unfortunately. He grabbed a mallet attached to the top wheel and used it as well.

Our swords met again and we stood like that as he spoke. "Or, perhaps the reason you practise three hours a day is because you've found one," he swayed back and forth.

_Clara._

"And are incapable of wooing said strumpet," he wobbled on his feet and I wondered how he had the balance for sword fighting. Was he drunk? "You're not a eunich are you?" he asked, glancing downwards.

I felt my face scrunch up in anger and disbelief. "The reason I practise three hours a day is so that when I meet a pirate; I can kill it!" I exploded.

"Ah," the pirate nodded in understanding and I pushed on the sword. He stumbled backwards and upwards onto a wagon. I followed him, and our combined weight, moved it away from the wall where it rested. It wobbled and I fought to keep balance as it swayed up and down.

The pirate parries and thrusts with both his sword and chain. The chain wraps around my sword and I twist the handle of it so it passes through a link in the chain. In one swift movement, I stab my sword into a wooden beam overhead, successfully pining it there and suspending his arm.

He parries using one hand and I jerk back at his wild swings. He steps on one board in the wagon and it flings up, smashing into my chin and knocking me backwards, off the wagon and into the dirt. I watch in astonishment as he grabs a hold of the chain with both hands and swings himself upside down, yanking and pulling at the sword.

I walk back onto the edge of the wagon, just as the sword comes loose and he falls onto the opposite side of the wagon. The downward motion of his fall forces me up onto the wooden beams in the roof. I grab a hold of a vertical beam and look down to see the pirate getting back up. I move my feet across the narrow beams and look directly down at him. He grins, obviously wanting to take the opportunity to get away.

I slash my sword out and cut the rope holding a barrel up. It falls and crashed into the wagon, sending the pirate flying up here as well. He quickly pulls himself up and faces me on the beams. We moved towards each other and we jumped onto two parallel beams. I landed on one, while the pirate landed on the other. I jumped across to be on the same one as him, just as he jumped across to mine, avoiding me. We did the same thing again, ending up on our original planks. The pirate moved again, jumping onto mine and his smile disappeared as he realised I didn't move from it.

We swung again, the clang of steel on steel shattering the quiet of the room. I moved closer and he retreated. I moved the blade and suddenly he was weapon-less. He jumped down and I followed him, landing with a thud on the ground. I looked across to him and he was up higher than me, standing on a beam about a meter and a half off the ground.

I moved towards him as he grabbed a bag of red dirt and emptied it on me. I closed my mouth and eyes so it wouldn't ingest any or have it sting my eyes. I tilt my head forward and stumble back, trying to get away from the onslaught. When the dirt stopped pouring I whipped my head and saw the pirate aiming a pistol right between my eyes.

"You cheated," I said. Honestly, though, I wasn't surprised.

"Pirate," he said, like I should have expected it. Pirates don't fight fair.

Over my shoulder I heard people pounding on the door, heaving against it to open. I moved so I was in front of the door. The pirates pistol followed me.

"Move away," he demanded.

"No," I shook my head, still holding my sword in the air like a hammer.

"Please move," he said. I cocked my head at him. He truly was the weirdest pirate.

"No," I said, louder this time. "I can not just step aside and let you escape."

His gun clicked as he got ready to shoot. "This shot is not meant for you." I frowned at him, what did that mean?

And then I heard glass shatter and the pirate fell to the ground. Brown stood behind, the broken handle of the rum bottle in his hand. The men broke through then, the wooden door splintering. They encircled him and pointed the tips of their bayonets at him.

"Excellent work Mr Brown. You've assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive," Norrington said to the still drunk owner of the smithy.

I rolled my eyes. _You've got to be kidding._

"Just doing my civic duty, sir," Brown replied.

"Well, I trust that this is the day you will always remember as the day Capitan Jack Sparrow almost escaped. Take him away," Norrington said, before leaving.

I turned around and became aware of the brown soot covering my face. I needed a bath.

CLARA P.O.V.

Davy jones locked his piercing gaze on me. His black eyes looked as menacing as ever. You never got used to eyes like that. A small shiver ran through me. The sun was high in the sky but of course it was cold and gloomy on the quarter deck.

"How would you like to get back at your father?" he asked me wickedly.

I cocked my head at him. How would I be able to do that? Did I want to get back at him? Yes. Yes, I did. He gave me up, traded me for something else and set me to sea in a box. It's his fault I'm here, on board this cursed ship. I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me.

"How?" I asked suspiciously.

His grin grew and the tentacles on his chin withered about.

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><p><strong>So... What's going to happen next?<strong>

**What do you readers think?**

**I know, do you?**

**Of course not. ;)**


	8. Jack Sparrow

A Love That Waits

Chapter 8 – Jack Sparrow

Getting into Port Royale was surprisingly easier than I had expected.

The usual tranquillity of the night was shattered by canon fire, gun fire and screams. The Black Pearl was attacking and I thought it sadistically comical that I was traversing the island with the purpose to kill my dear old daddy when he was so close by. I walked along the main street, a breeze dancing tendrils of my hair around my face. The towns people were running about as men dressed as pirates chased them. It was chaotic and wild. Perfect for this moment. I moved quickly, ducking as bits of debris flew about from houses that a canon just exploded. It was so loud. And the pirates were making a real muck of the place. On a different occasion, I would have tried to help, tried to protect the people. But my heart had gone cold and I concentrated on my goal. I blocked it all out and walked on to the jail cells.

For a brief moment I worried about Lissy and Father and Will. My footsteps stopped and I glanced around, looking for signs of them. I looked in the direction of the blacksmith and then towards my old house. I felt sick with longing. I dearly wanted to go to them, find them, hug them. I wanted to come home and be a part of that family again. An image of the Madeline's face floated into my mind and I remembered the last time I had tried. Someone had ended up dead. And it was my fault. How could I risk that again? I let that thought go as I remembered that the governor and his daughter would have protection and Will was a blacksmith; he worked with swords. Please, let them stay safe. I prayed they would be safe.

I felt the steely resolve return and I continued on, walking calmly through the chaos around me. All I had to do was not think about anything other than what I had to do. If I focused on all the anger and resentment and the black feelings inside me, I could almost not think about the fact that the place was under attack. If I focused on the burn in my heart, I could almost block everything else out. Almost. But not quite. Because I was still human, I still had my humanity; I still hurt, still felt pain. Still felt the nauseating guilt rose in my stomach as another scream of fear pierced the chaotic night air. What was worse, was that it only joined the mass of other noises, mixing with the other screams and shouts and bangs. It was just another part of a whole.

Again I forced myself to stop thinking about that. Instead I thought about my father. The bastard who traded me to this life. What kind of a father did that? Was I really so unimportant to him? Was I really that unlovable? The dark thoughts roiled around my mind until I was practically numb with anger and hate. And pain. Because he hurt me, as much as I didn't want to admit it, as much as I didn't want to believe that he had such a drastic effect on me, he did. It hurt that he didn't care. He was my father and he didn't care. The only way I could think to make the hurt go away was to hurt him like he hurt me.

My sword swung at my side and my revolver was in its holster. I was not worried about myself; only those who got in my way. There was menace in my stride and iron in my back. I would not crumble, or break. I would not care. I was beginning to see what anger could do to a person. It was black and all-consuming; it sucked away your goodness and made it bloody hard to get it back. My hair bounced against my back and I picked up my stride, sticking to dark alleyways as I neared my destination. Men in uniforms ran about, firing at men who couldn't die.

I turned down another side street, my hand trailing over the rough stone wall, guiding me. Ahead, I saw a figure pause. I continued to walk forward, my other hand going to rest lightly on the hilt of my sword. I saw that the figure was a man, dressed in pirate garb. His lips lifted in what I assumed was a smile, his teeth black and rotting, as he looked me over. I knew what he saw. A woman; a young woman, dressed as a pirate and all alone. No one to defend her. He ran towards me, holding his sword out and I brought mine up to block his blow. With my free hand, I grabbed my revolver. I chucked it up in the air, caught the end of it and whacked the butt of it against his head like a club.

I may not be able to kill him, but I could knock him out.

"That's one thing I hate about you pirates," I said, re-holstering my sword and gun. "You're all pig-headed."

I continued on my way, reaching the towering structure that housed the jail cells in less than two minutes. I heard the unmistakable sound of a cannonball hurtling towards me and I dived to the ground, covering my hands over my head just as a part of the wall exploded. Bits of rubble flew everywhere and I tensed. When none hit me I jumped back up. I heard shouting, and feet hitting the stairs echo up to me, so I pressed myself against the wall to the side of the doorway. I watched as a pile of men ran out, gleefully shouting to each other. They were free, and happy about it. I scrutinised each man, carefully searching them, but I didn't see the one I was looking for.

When the men were out of site, I ran down the stairs, my booted feet making only a slight noise. At the bottom of the staircase was more rubble and bits of stone and twisted metal laying about and one cell was completely busted open. In the far cell though, the one completely _unharmed,_ I saw a man sitting on a bench in the corner.

His hair was long, though not as long as mine, and was twisted into dreadlocks. Beads and symbols were interwoven in the black strands and surprisingly, it looked good. A bandana covered his head and his skin was dirty. Dark kohl rings outlined his eyes. He was dressed as a pirate. And he sat on the bench, arms lightly resting on his knees. He seemed so calm about his predicament that I immediately decided that this was the man I was searching for.

"Jack Sparrow," I said. It wasn't a question, merely a statement. His eyes snapped open and he looked at me with brown, appraising eyes.

"Depends whose asking, love," he smiled.

A small smile lifted my lips and I approached the bars of the cell. He stood up and walked to the centre of the cell. Shouts and screams were audible even in here, though they were greatly diluted.

"What do you know about the Aztec Gold?" I asked, getting right to the point. I didn't want to have to spend more time on this island than I absolutely had to. His eyes never left mine, but I saw him looking at me with a different type of curiosity now.

"And what would someone like you know about something like that?" he quipped.

My small smile became a grin as I continued with what I was saying, refusing to get side-tracked, "It's cursed."

"So the legends are true?" He asked, suspiciously.

I nodded and got right to the point. "They can not die. All of the pieces must be returned from whence they came. Blood must be sacrificed and then they are mortal again."

"Who are you?" he asked, squinting his eyes at me.

"No one special," my grin twisted.

"You don't be speaking like a pirate but you be dressing as one," he stated.

"Just because I'm a pirate, Jack, doesn't mean I can't speak like a proper English lady," I half-mocked. I was no lady.

He thought about it for a moment before moving on. "Why did you leave the safety of your ship," he gestured in the direction of the sea, "Risk life and limb, and possible death to tell me this? If that is in fact why you are actually here."

"I have a feeling that you'll want a certain mutinous Capitan dead," I said simply. "I am just giving you a means to an end."

"Oh, are you now? And why is that?" he waited for my answer.

"Barbossa's death is… mutually pleasing. I was inclined to believe that that is so," I replied.

"And why would _you_ want him dead?" he asked.

"You know what they say about curiosity and the cat," I mocked. "And in this case, I'm curiosity and you're the cat."

"Lucky I'm not a curious fellow, then, aye?" he said.

I laughed.

"So, let me get this straight 'round me noggin'. You want me to kill Barbossa?"

I nodded, "Isn't that what I just said?"

"Is it? But as it would have it, you are wishing for me to do the deed. Get my hands dirty, you could say."

"What are you getting at?"

"If I be doing this for you, what will I be receiving in return for my service?"

I grinned, "Nothing. I was just making sure we were on the same page is all. Luckily, we are."

"Maybe I won't be doing anything then," he said.

I laughed again, "Oh, Jack, don't kid yourself. You want that man dead. You won't be able to help yourself."

"Who's your Capitan? Who sent you?" he asked.

I paused to think about how to answer. It would probably be better if I didn't mention Davy Jones, "I'm my own Capitan, I'm here of my own doing."

"Are you now?" he said disbelivingly.

"What? Is it really so hard to believe that a woman would be in charge?" I said with vague annoyance, taking a step towards the cell. My jaw automatically clenched.

"No, no, not at all," he amended, backtracking. His eyes narrowed at me, "Do I know you? You seem…familiar."

"You don't know me, Jack."

"And yet you know me?" he smirked. "Not uncommon."

"Of you, Jack, I know of you. There's a difference."

He was quiet for a while then, "We're kind of the same, you and me."

I raised an eyebrow at him, "How so?"

"We're both pirates. We both want that man dead. We're both here, in this place."

"Yes, but you see, you're a pirate out of want, I'm a pirate out of unfortunate trading, you're on that side of the cell and I'm on this side. However, we both want that man dead because he's wronged us both." My nostrils flared. "You're right, we're so alike," I taunted. Then I stepped up close to the bars, "But do you want to know the _real_ difference between you and me?" I whispered, pointing at him, then at myself. He came close to the bars as well, waiting for my answer. "I can walk away."

His lips twitched downwards and my smile showed my teeth. I turned and walked away. "Wait," he called. I sighed and turned around.

"What?" I asked.

"Seeing as we're in the same boat, sort of, would you mind springing me? I really don't want to have to keep me date with the rope tomorrow."

I pretended to think about it before saying, "No. I don't think so. Goodbye Jack."

"I'm no use to you dead," he called.

"If you're really Jack Sparrow, you'll get yourself out of this mess you got yourself into," I said and turned to walk away for a second time.

"Wait," he called again. I sighed loudly and turned around to see what he wanted. "What's your name?" he asked again.

I pursued my lips before answering. I decided it wouldn't hurt. "Clara," I told him.

He grinned, "I'll remember that name when I get free, love, and how you left me here. Not very nice, you know."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "I wouldn't pick a fight with me, if I were you. Because you won't win."

"Is that so?" he asked.

"Besides, it's for your own good. You seem to work better when you're under pressure. What's more pressure-some than death?" it was a rhetorical question, he knew that.

"It's still not nice," he called after me as I ascended the stairs.

"And neither am I, apparently. I guess I get that from my father," I called back.

Getting out was even easier than getting in. people were too busy running around screaming, and hiding to notice a girl walk out to the ocean, and keep walking. It didn't take me long to get back aboard the Dutchman. As expected, Davy Jones was waiting for my return.

"It's done," I said.

"Well done," he replied, though it wasn't praise. If anything, it was surprise and mocking cruelty mixed all together. That was the way he was. Bitter. Cold. Uncaring.

I watched the outline of Port Royale disappear and felt the pang go through me again.

He was what I was trying, and failing, to be.

* * *

><p><strong>So, thanks for reading!<strong>

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